Cara Summers - Risking It All - The Proposition / The Dare / The Favour / The P.I. / The Cop / The Defender

Carlo held out his arm. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to stand in for him?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Natalie said with a shy smile. “I had more than walking in mind.”

“Ah.” Lifting a hand, he drew a finger down her cheek. “I would be delighted to be his substitute for that also.”

“Oh no. I could never…” She and Chance had discussed the possibility that Carlo would make a move on her, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

For a moment he said nothing. Natalie waited. She was pretty sure that Carlo Brancotti was not a man who accepted rejection easily. This might blow her chance of ever getting that private tour. Finally, she saw the quick flash of his smile. “I admire loyalty. It’s a precious commodity.”

Natalie eased away a step so that he was forced to withdraw his hand. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate Carlo Brancotti, but she had no choice except to react to the situation the way she believed that Catherine Weston would react. “I don’t want to interrupt Steven’s game, so I think I’ll retire to my room,” she said.

“I apologize if I offended you. I want you to feel perfectly comfortable and enjoy your stay here.” He smiled again and held out his hand. “Could we, as you Americans say, wipe the slate clean and begin again?”

“Sure.” She put her hand in his and felt the warm press of his palm before he released hers.

When she turned to go back into the conservatory, he placed a hand on her arm. “Please. I will feel that I have failed as a host if you retire so early. How about if I offer you a tour of the gardens or the house—or both?”

Natalie hesitated, then smiled. “I’d love to see both. Steven has a couple of great homes—a ranch and a house he just built outside of L.A.—but I’ve never seen anything like this place. How old is it?”

“It’s relatively new.” He didn’t touch her but merely held his hand out to indicate the direction. “I bought the house from a Saudi Prince two years ago, but the gardens are new. Flowers are my passion.”

“I admire anyone who can grow things,” she said enthusiastically as he guided her down a circular stair. “Not that I have a green thumb. I don’t. But I love flowers.”

“It’s a passion that we share then,” Carlo said as he urged her toward a door beneath the stairs. “Shall we start with the house and save the best until last?”

CHANCE HELD three royal ladies in his hand, but the woman who held his attention wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. She was standing on the patio talking to Carlo Brancotti. And she could handle herself. Wasn’t that the reason he’d been so determined to get Natalie Gibbs for this job?

“Are you in, Mr. Bradford?”

Silently cursing himself, Chance glanced back down at his cards.

Natalie was focused on the job. He was the one who was allowing himself to be distracted. The truth was that whenever he made love to her he became so drawn into the moment that he almost forgot that he was here to do a job. When he glanced back up at the patio, it was empty.

Chance ruthlessly suppressed the mix of panic and anger that tangled in his stomach. Natalie had made her plan clear. She was going to persuade Carlo to give her a tour. Obviously, the plan was working.

But Venetia had been following a plan, too.

“Are you in or out?” Armand Genovese’s voice was thin with impatience.

“Give me a minute.” Chance tore his gaze away from the patio and found four pairs of eyes staring at him. What he read in them ran the gamut from annoyance and mild curiosity to speculation and amusement. It was the speculation that bothered him the most because it came from Sir Arthur Latham, the man he suspected would report his every move to Carlo.

Get a grip, he warned himself. He could hardly throw down his cards and go running after Natalie. One of Steven Bradford’s weaknesses was poker. He had a group of friends, ones who went back to the founding of his company, that he regularly played with. Chance had to believe that Brancotti’s dossier on Bradford would have included that little known piece of information. So he could only conclude that the poker game had been arranged to keep “Steven” occupied and separated from “Calli” for the evening.

“Mr. Bradford?” The question came from the Turkish man who was also clearly annoyed.

“I think that Mr. Bradford may be thinking of other ways that he could be spending the evening,” Sir Arthur said. “And I can’t say that I blame him.”

Chance pushed a pile of chips into the center. “I’m in.”

For the rest of the hand, he kept his attention focused on the game. Natalie was doing her job. If he wanted to keep her safe, all he had to do was concentrate on doing his.

“YOU DID SAVE the best for last,” Natalie said as Carlo led the way down a winding path bordered on either side by jewel-colored flowers.

“You delight me. Most women are more impressed with the main salon or the gallery,” Carlo said.

“They were lovely, too. But the paintings in the gallery made it seem more like a…museum.” She sent him an apologetic smile. “I’m not much on museums.”

As they continued down the path, Natalie reviewed the tour Carlo had just given her in her mind. He’d taken her through all of the rooms on the first floor—except for one that had a coded access pad. His workspace, he’d said as he’d guided her past it. Then for the length of a long hallway, he hadn’t spoken. Natalie suspected that he was waiting for her to ask to see it. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d stopped to “ooh” and “aah” over a marble-topped table with a mosaic inlay.

Gut instinct told her she was still being tested. Did he suspect that she wasn’t the real Calli or was he always this careful?

The main salon took up the entire first floor in the wing opposite the conservatory. Marble floors gleamed, mirrored walls caught the reflections of carved pillars and crystal chandeliers. French doors opened onto patios with a view of the ocean. Natalie had spotted at least two surveillance cameras.

“The masquerade ball will be held in here tomorrow night,” Carlo had said. “Who will you come as?”

Natalie had realized that she didn’t know so she’d shot him a flustered look. “I can’t tell you that. Steven says the whole point of a masquerade is that no one knows who you are. For one night you get to be someone else entirely with no consequences.”

“How will I find you?” Carlo had asked. “All I would ask for is a dance.”

Hoping for the best, Natalie had allowed herself to remain a bit flustered. “I really can’t tell you. Steven hasn’t even told me what costumes he brought.”

Carlo had laughed. “You’re charming. Steven is a very lucky man. But I will still try to figure out who you are.”

Which wouldn’t be much of a challenge, Natalie had thought. She’d spotted two cameras in the hallways, and Carlo would see them leaving the Venetian room in whatever they were wearing.

“I do love playing games. I believe your Steven does too,” Carlo had said as he’d taken her arm and drawn her back to the main hall. “Come, I want to show you something.”

The something had been a small room down the hallway. Oval in shape, it boasted two ornately carved pillars at the midpoint of the room.

“This gallery is my favorite place. We’ll have the auction here. What do you think?”

“Wow,” she’d said as she’d let her gaze sweep the room. Furniture was positioned to form conversation areas on richly hued oriental rugs, and settees were placed at intervals along one wall. Across from them hung the paintings.

Natalie had counted ten, and she’d been hard pressed to keep her mouth from falling open. She’d recognized several of the painters, but she hadn’t been sure that Calli would.